


From Squin to Rebirth

by Pelandreth



Category: Kenshi (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-06 20:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17352278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pelandreth/pseuds/Pelandreth
Summary: A young Shek finds herself enslaved by the Holy Nation. She must grow strong if she is to have any hope of escape, but can she overcome the shame of defeat?





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn’t the first time Sabre had been thrown to the ground by someone far stronger than her, but it was the first time she’d been thrown to the ground in shackles.

Her limbs still stung with a thousand lacerations, though the wounds had at least been treated. Slavemongers knew how to treat their captives – at least enough to stop them dying on the journey. When she tried to stand, however, pain shot up her leg, and she fleetingly remembered a weapon being brought full force on it before she lost consciousness.

There was no sympathy in the face of the slavemonger who’d dropped her. “On your feet. Get moving.”

Her vision was blurred as she stumbled forwards, her movements hampered by the heavy bracelets around her wrists, neck and ankles. Several times she nearly fell, but managed to right herself again, afraid of another beating.

She was not the only prisoner. On either side of her she saw the huddled rags of people she recognised as belonging to the Starving Bandits faction. Funny, they’d once been enemies – now they had something in common with each other.

What had she  _done_? Her memory was coming back, in pain-fogged bits and pieces. Only a few days prior, she’d left Squin having been told to prove herself in the hostile flatskin lands. She’d been arrogant, arrogant enough to think she could take down a slaver at the back of the group – and she had not recognised them as slavemongers at that point. She turned her head slightly, her neck stiffened by the iron collar, and thought she saw him. There were smudges of red on his jaw and the way he glared at her confirmed her suspicions. That wasn’t good. He was probably waiting for her to put one bare, battered foot out of line and then he would beat her into the dust.

They walked on, their pace hampered by the injured slaves. Sabre had no idea where they were going, only that they were headed north, away from the Hub and the Shek Kingdom. She’d heard tales of the evil flatskins to the north; who had warred with her people since she could remember. They hated Shek, all in the name of some god. Her mother – tough and battle-scarred – had always told her that when Sabre was older she would become a warrior and destroy those flatskins with the rest of the Shek. Sabre had looked forward to that day. Now she knew that even if she managed to escape, she would never be able to show her face again.

_It’s over. Everything’s over._

The despair and hopelessness engulfed her, and for a while her mind was dark enough to ignore the stabs of pain in her leg. She had nowhere to go and no-one to turn to. She would be shamed in Shek society for having allowed herself to be enslaved, and not having died an honourable death. Why hadn’t they let her die?

All she had left was her name. Sabre. Named for a weapon not favoured by Shek, it had been an odd naming choice, and she’d spent her childhood being mocked for it by her peers. But sabres were lethal in the wrong hands…

“My name is Sabre,” she muttered just loud enough that the bandit slave next to her looked up. “I will not forget it.”  _Clunk_. Her toe stubbed on a rock and she scowled – it was either that or burst into tears. “My name is Sabre…”

Ahead of them the ground became rockier, more desert-like. Sabre closed her eyes against the dust and stumbled forwards. Wherever they were taking her, she would remember.

_My name is Sabre. And I will not forget it._

 


	2. Chapter 2

There was no rest and no respite from the pain-filled exhaustion that had crept up on them. Every so often Sabre felt her head nodding, followed by the unwelcome jerk in her neck as the collar tugged on her tendons. Her eyes itched with dust and tiredness, and still they did not stop.

They had traversed a large patch of rocky desert that seemed to have no end. She saw the lights of far-off trader caravans, and heard the desperate battle-cries of hungry bandits. Every now and again a small, straggling group would attack theirs, and the slavemongers would make short work of them.

When they had left the Border Zone there had been four slaves; Sabre and three of the Starving Bandits. Now there were more than the slavers could carry, so spares who were unable to walk were left shackled and unconscious in the dust. Another slaver group might pick them up later; otherwise they would likely starve to death where they lay. Sabre could not afford to feel sorry for them.

Her own stomach growled and the hunger made her tired limbs even weaker. The last thing she’d eaten was as a free person, a bowl of rice from the Hub’s bar. Had she realised it might be her last meal, she’d have gone for something more appetising. Right now, however, that bowl of tasteless pulp had never seemed so appealing.

The night wore on and became morning. The road ahead was bleak, with long stretches of nothing before them. Very occasionally Sabre would catch sight of something interesting; a small settlement just off the road, a rusted remnant of a bygone era, a strangely-shaped rock jutting into the sky. Still they marched; or limped, in the slaves’ cases. Even when the tiny settlements gave way to a town, they did not stop, and instead walked around it.

There were flatskin patrols in this area, marching in military formation with matching armour. Sometimes there would be flatskin men in orange robes behind them, carrying pathetic-looking sticks. For a moment Sabre forgot herself and stopped to watch; she received a hard whack on the shins for her trouble.

“Horned devil,” one of them sneered as his patrol passed. Another spat on the ground in contempt. “Rejector of Okran’s light, in favour of Narko’s darkness!”

Sabre did not understand the words, but she understood the intention behind them. She shrank away, filled with shame as she did so, and hobbled after her masters.

“Where are they taking us?” she whispered to one of the captive bandits; as quietly as she could, because she’d already learnt the slavemongers hated chatter and liked their slaves to be sullen and silent.

“Dunno,” said the woman out of the corner of her mouth, eyeing the slavers’ backs. “Somewhere here in Holy Nation land, I s’pose.”

“But what if…”

“Be quiet!” The slaver behind her walloped her legs again. Had it not been for her natural armour plating, Sabre might have felt more than just a bruise, but her tough Shek skin protected her from the worst of the damage. “Keep moving!”

Time went by with agonising slowness, and the sky gradually turned the colour of spilled blood. The land under Sabre’s feet turned became grey and coarse. By this time they had been on the move for three days… four? It was all she could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other, and at this point it was only her pride that kept her upright.

_They’re marching us to death._

The landscape ahead of them was replaced with enormous rocky mountains that reminded Sabre of her old home. Her heart almost broke with the knowledge that she would probably never see Squin again. _If I hadn’t been such an idiot…_ But now it was far, far too late for regrets and “what ifs”.

Eventually the group came to a stop. Sabre looked around and saw at least half of the slaves swaying on the spot, clutching injured limbs. She was no longer conscious of anything but how hungry and exhausted she was, and she barely noticed that they had come to an open gate with flatskin guards coming to greet the slavers.

The slaver Sabre had attacked jabbed his elbow into her side, and she fell to her hands and knees in the dirt. As he bent down to yank her up, he said with obvious sadism, “Well, here we are, girl. They just _love_ Shek here.”

“Where…” Sabre mumbled through dry lips.

“Darkened ones. Impure children of Narko.” The voice boomed, echoing around the mountainside. The guard who had spoken spread his hands wide, as if the slaves were his guests. “Welcome to your second chance. Welcome,” and at this point Sabre felt her knees go weak, “to Rebirth.”


	3. Chapter 3

Having her horns sheared off didn’t hurt, at least not physically. Psychologically, it was the worst thing that had happened to Sabre since her capture at the hands of the slavemongers. She knelt on the gritty floor of the cage, her shoulders heaving with barely-suppressed sobs as the Rebirth guards hacked away at her horns. Eventually, she heard the last of her horns clatter to the floor, and the ordeal was over. Still her cheeks burned with shame at the knowledge that she had just been stripped of everything that made her a fighter, and bore all the marks of a shameless coward who just wouldn’t die when she was meant to. Then they replaced her rags with the orange uniform that all the slaves seemed to wear, and left her in the cage.

She sat huddled in the corner for a time, the iron bars pressing uncomfortably into her back, and felt the cold night air caress her battered skin. There was food, at least; she wasn’t going to starve, but they’d only given her the bare minimum to keep her useful. Every muscle felt weak, and the days when she was fit and healthy and free seemed like a lifetime ago.

She slipped into a doze. When she woke again, it was morning, and a guard was rattling a key in the lock of her cage. “Get up. Get up. Get to work!”

It wasn’t difficult to see what she had to do, not when there were hundreds of other slaves doing the same. Keeping her head down, she shuffled up the path to a large patch of stone that a lone flatskin was mining.

“Get a move on,” the woman whispered. “I don’t want them to come up here.” There was nobody around to supervise them, but Sabre got the feeling that the guards would immediately know if they started slacking. Following the woman’s lead, she began to slowly drag the pickaxe up, over and into the stone. _Thunk. Thunk. Thunk_. In a way it was rhythmic enough for her not to focus on how hot the sun was or how poorly she had slept in spite of her exhaustion, and to attune her mind purely to the beat. _Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

“What’s your name?” she asked the woman after a few minutes of silence.

The woman grunted; sweat ran down both her cheeks. It was a wonder she could even lift the pickaxe, her arms were so bony. “Listen here. If you want to get by in this place without trouble, you don’t do nothing _they_ don’t like.” She jerked her head towards the quarry basin where a giant statue was being built. That was what they toiled all day for, a stupid statue. “Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to – in fact, don’t speak at all unless it’s to pray. They like it when you pray and tell them how sinful you are.”

“What am I supposed to be praying to?”

“Okran, of course. He is our god.” The woman huffed a little with exertion as she chipped away a small section of the mountain. “We’re here to work, so that we may serve his cause. When we die, we will be rewarded – we will be reborn in better, less sinful bodies.”

Sabre tried not to snort with derision, but the woman noticed. “You can believe what you like. It’s a private business and none of mine. Just don’t go irking the guards by saying you worship Narko, or some such. They won’t hurt you enough to kill you, but you’ll certainly wish you were dead.”

“You,” a voice shouted from below. “The darkened one. Come down here. I want to talk to you.”

“He means you,” the woman whispered. “You should go, or it’ll be worse for you.”

“My name’s Sabre,” Sabre said as she began her worried descent down the mountain path. She wasn’t sure why she said it, when the other woman hadn’t done her the courtesy of giving _her_ name, but she said it nonetheless.

“Mine’s Flick.” The woman’s voice was so soft Sabre thought she’d imagined it. But then she added, “You have a strong name. You’re going to need it. Good luck, Sabre.”


	4. Chapter 4

The paladin who’d called Sabre down from the mountainside hadn’t wanted her for much. He’d simply asked her to repeat a prayer, and told her to consider herself thankful that she’d been given such a blessed opportunity. Having perceived the minutest of scowls from Sabre, his almost kindly nature had evaporated in an instant, and he’d warned her to get back to work before she regretted her insolence. All too soon, Sabre realised she’d gotten off lightly; slaves could be beaten here for any reason. _Any_ reason.

The first she saw of this was just before dusk on her first full day in Rebirth. A flatskin woman – they were mainly flatskin women here, and both male and female Shek – had failed to say her prayers in the correct tone, and before Sabre could blink the woman was lying in a bloody pulp on the ground. The guards swarmed in to give her first aid, and hauled her off to a cage somewhere to recover. Sabre wasn’t sure what she felt more; pity, despair or anger. Whatever it was, she worked through it, and for the next few days she channelled her emotions into hacking away at that lump of rock that made her arms sore.

In many ways, night was a gift. Though she was by no means free to move around, she was usually surrounded by fellow slaves. The best place to spend the night, as she quickly realised, was inside a cage in one of the slave-buildings. The worst place was tied with her arms behind a pole, where her shoulder muscles seized and the cold air caused her to shiver in her too-thin prisoner rags.

She never saw Flick about; their cages were always allotted randomly – presumably to avoid collaboration on any escape attempt – and in any case the bald, skinny flatskins all looked the same.

They played games with the guards, when they dared. The guards slept in the same shacks they were caged in, so loud fake coughing, or sneezing, was enough to wake them up. When that happened they would pretend to be asleep until the guards swore at them and returned to their beds. If the guards somehow weren’t awakened, they would have whispered conversations between their cages.

“You see that big tall Shek they brought in?”

“What – not _her_?” – nodding at Sabre.

“Of course not her. She’s smaller than I am. I mean that big one with the dark skin and the angry look.”

“They all got angry looks.”

Sabre wasn’t entirely surprised to find that around half of the flatskins didn’t seem to like the Shek, acting as if the Shek were somehow beneath them. The other half tended to stay silent, except for the occasional voice speaking up to defend her people. Those tended to be Scorchlanders, or the more outspoken “heretics” of the Holy Nation. From what Sabre could gather, these weren’t women to be crossed. They even went up against the guards sometimes, though they always lost. Sabre admired their courage, and was sure that the Shek would too.

“’Ey, bonehead. Let’s see your angry face.”

“I’m not interested.” Sabre curled up in the corner of her cage, her face turned to the wall. “I want to sleep.”

“I thought your people was all about honour.”

“Yeah… well,” Sabre said, pointing to the stumps of her horns, “it’s not like any of us have got any honour in here, is it? Just let me sleep.”

The flatskins needled her for a while, but when they saw she wasn’t going to rise to their bait they lapsed into silence. Sabre heard one of them say grudgingly, “She’s pretty smart for a Shek. Usually they’re all honour this and honour that.”

 _S_ _mart for a Shek_ … Sabre thought about it. Maybe, even as a dishonoured slave, she could do something, anything that might make her people proud of her. She shifted position, her muscles cramping from both the tight quarters and the shackles, and waited for the first rays of morning light.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn’t until she found the tiny pin, hidden just between her cage and the wall, that Sabre began to entertain thoughts of escape.

The pin must have been there a while, because it had rusted; however, it clearly showed signs of having been used for picking the locks. Sabre was half tempted to leave it there, but she knew that if she did then she’d never forgive herself. So she pinned it into the bandages she used to secure her breasts, and kept it on her all day until it was time to go back to the cage for the night.

When in her cage, she kept one watchful eye on the sleeping guards, and the other on what she was doing. It was near impossible to see in the dark, and the pick kept getting stuck in the lock. At one point she thought she’d jammed it in there, and began to panic lest her lockpicking attempts be discovered. It was with some relief that she managed to free the pick, though unfortunately, not herself.

She got better at the lockpicking as time went on, and even successfully unlocked her cage a few times, though she never dared leave it. The guards never seemed to cotton on to what was happening; if they found the cage unlocked they would just kick it and call it useless. They’d then send Sabre off to work while they inspected the locking mechanism.

Maybe it was suspicion on one paladin’s part, but he took to locking Sabre to one of the prisoner poles at the feet of the great statue. Even if she could somehow magically manoeuvre the pick with her heavily restricted movement, she didn’t want to risk freeing her hands and confirming anyone’s suspicions of what she’d been up to. So she kept a low profile for a week or two, and eventually the paladin stopped caring about where he locked her up at night.

She met Flick again not long afterwards. At first Sabre didn’t recognise her, as she walked with a heavy limp and had old, dried blood crusted on her lip. But she nodded slightly to Sabre in greeting, and the two of them began to work on the mound of stone they had been assigned.

“What happened?” Sabre said in a low voice.

“Tried to run.” The pickaxe hit the stone with a dull thud. “Thought I could make it. I didn’t even get past the gate. Okran forgive me…”

“But where would you even go?”

“Up north.” Flick’s voice was slightly thick, and Sabre noticed for the first time that her lip was swollen to twice its size. “They say there’s hope up there. Somewhere safe for folks like us.”

“But isn’t…”

“I don’t want this getting back to the guards,” Flick interrupted her. “They say those people – the ones up north – are enemies of the Holy Nation. They’ve been looking for them for years but they never found nothing.”

“And what makes you think you would?”

Flick shrugged and grimaced at the pain. “What is there to lose?”

Sabre didn’t have an answer for that.

“I’m so tired of it,” Flick mumbled. “I know I’m being sinful and throwing my chances of rebirth away. I just want to go home to Blister Hill, but that can never happen.” Her eyes filled with tears, and Sabre suddenly realised that the shaved head and flatskin face had massively thrown her off when it came to gauging Flick’s age. By all estimations there was only a year or two’s difference between them. “I can’t keep doing this. I have to get out of here.”

“Maybe we can.” The sparks of an idea had formed in Sabre’s mind. She unconsciously felt her bandages for the tiny pick, pinned in place next to her chest.

“What do you mean?” Flick said.

“I’m thinking of something.”


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn’t until night fell that Sabre was able to put her plan into action. Not that it was much of a plan. It relied on so much and could fall apart on so little. The most important thing was to get out of the cage, and to do so without making any noise or stirring anyone, whether they be guard or slave.

The first issue was that she had been locked in a cage on the flat roof of one of the slave buildings. It wouldn’t be impossible to escape from there, she was fairly confident of that, but being a Shek she was heavier than the average flatskin and would be likely to make noise going down the stairs.

That assumed she would even make it to the stairs. Currently there was a very bored-looking guard sitting at a table by those stairs, muttering prayers to keep himself awake. Sabre knew she was taking a risk, but what did it matter, really? The tantalising thoughts of north and freedom were enough to boost her courage.

Even so, she hesitated before she pushed open the newly-unlocked door to her cage. Finally she crept out across the roof, ready to knock the guard senseless. Her arms were still weighed down with the shackles; a blow to the head with five kilograms of iron on one wrist might be enough to down him.

Her fingers struck him just under the temple. He turned around in alarm, and with a shout of “Escapee!” reached for his weapon. Sabre heard slaves stirring in their cages and watching the scene through sleepy eyes.

“Darkened heretic!” he snarled, bringing the weapon towards Sabre’s chest. Sabre only just managed to dodge the blow, and bolted for the stairs. But the shackles slowed her down, and she realised with a sinking feeling that she’d massively underestimated how quickly she might be able to move. She should have picked the lock on them first, then moved on to the cage door. Now it was too late to stop, or to hide in the dark, or to do anything but keep pushing blindly forward.

Guards rushed up the stairs towards her and she let out a fiercer battle cry than came from many a Shek, her fists slamming uselessly into plated armour. The practically-suicidal Shek fighting instinct had kicked in, and no-one would stop her from getting her revenge. Forget about escaping now – she’d made a fatal miscalculation – but she was determined to hurt the people who had hurt her, and hurt Flick.

A sharp blow landed on the back of her legs, followed by the loud crack of breaking bone. Sabre screamed, falling to the floor, trying to attack the ankles of the guards in front. When they tried to drag her back to her cage, she yelled and tried to bite them. The slaves watched from behind their bars, wearing expressions of bemusement, contempt – and in a few scarce cases, a fresh respect.

“Those Shek have bones for brains,” someone murmured. “What do they expect?”

“She’s sticking it to those guards though,” an admiring voice said.

Sabre was certainly giving the guards enough trouble that they didn’t bother to shout at the slaves for talking. Eventually, however, her resistance died as the adrenaline in her bloodstream began to dissipate. Though adrenaline levels were higher in Shek than in flatskins, they could still only last so long.

The last thing Sabre was aware of was a guard dropping her broken body into the cage, and rough flatskin hands repairing what they could of her damaged legs.


	7. Chapter 7

“You’re an idiot,” Flick said.

Sabre didn’t respond. The shame of defeat no longer stung as keenly as it once had.

“Seriously, you can’t Shek your way out of a situation like this. You’ve got to take a more human approach. Avoid confrontation, stick to the shadows, run like hell. And for Okran’s sake take off the damn shackles next time you try something like that.”

“I thought it might work,” Sabre said listlessly.

“Even if you weren’t half-starved, you’re still no match for those paladins. Nobody is. The only way you could possibly hope to survive is to outrun them. Steal their food. If you can’t do that then try and steal their uniforms. Just don’t try and brute-force your way out of this place, coz it don’t work.”

“All right then.” Sabre leant her head against the pole, wriggling her bruised arms a little in discomfort. “What’s your suggestion?”

“I’ll tell you later.” Flick had noticed a guard coming towards her, and promptly sprinted off up the path before he could yell at her for not working hard enough.

Sabre grimaced, staring down at her ruined legs. They would heal given time, but she’d suffered enough blunt trauma that she wouldn’t be able to stand up for a long while. Had she the option of proper rest, her legs would heal faster, but rest was a luxury reserved for the guards who needed to be fighting fit at all times. Instead she was doomed to be chained to this pole, silently willing the recovery process to speed up.

At least here she was in the shade of the great statue, as the sun beat down on the shaved heads of the unfortunate slaves. It was a hot day. The weather was frequently hot in Rebirth, though not as humid as the green lands Flick came from. Sometimes there would be a cloudy day, meaning a respite from the stifling heat. Those were days Sabre had learned to appreciate.

She closed her eyes, feeling the sweat pool where tough exoskeleton met soft flesh. Not that her flesh was so soft anymore. After a number of beatings, it had hardened and calloused. The bony plates of her natural armour had hundreds of tiny cracks in them where they had been broken apart and had fused back together, stronger, thicker. She didn’t need to see her tied hands to know they were scarred from both the manual labour and the various injuries she’d incurred from trying to fight back bare-handed.

The gates to Rebirth felt closer than ever. If she could grow strong and tough enough, she might be able to make it there one day. After that, all she had to do was avoid being recaptured, and she would be free. She had no idea what she might do afterwards, only that it would be of her own choosing, and that she never wanted to see another pickaxe as long as she lived.

 _Soon_. She shifted slightly, just enough to remind herself of the pain in her legs. It brought tears to her eyes, but she allowed the weakness to show, silently vowing that whatever tears she shed now, she would repay tenfold on both the Holy Nation and the people who had enslaved her in the first place.

 _Soon_.


	8. Chapter 8

It had been so long since Sabre had seen the outside of Rebirth that she’d almost forgotten there was a world out there, waiting for her return to it. She’d given up counting the days that had passed since her arrival in the slave camp but she knew it was now somewhere in the order of months, not weeks. Her legs had fully healed up by this point, although they didn’t feel quite the same as they once had.

She’d kept her head down so well that the paladins had forgotten she’d ever been a problem. She worked hard and fast, and it was far easier to work through the hunger than it had once been.

She rarely saw Flick around. The girl had tried to escape a few more times since her last bolt for freedom, but she was always caught and returned to the camp – usually in far more of a mess than she’d left. They’d made a promise that, even if they couldn’t escape together, one would return for the other and save them.

Sometimes there were moments of joy that brightened Sabre’s life like shooting stars in the night. A little extra food from a young paladin who’d taken a liking to Sabre, in spite of her Shek nature. An otherwise lonely night tied to the cold poles, passing messages back and forth between them. The realisation that the shackles didn’t feel quite so heavy as they once had. They were small things, and nothing compared to the fond memories of freedom, but they were something, and they kept Sabre sane.

At night, the stars twinkled and promised change.

She still picked the locks from time to time. It helped keep her calloused fingers nimble and dextrous, and gave her something to occupy her mind with. They were puzzles, problems to be solved – though the identical design on all the locks made them less and less challenging as time went on.

She’d learnt to be meek and sensible when the paladins stood over her, calling her blackened and sinful, a woman that must be tamed so she could overcome the darkness in her heart. She knew all the prayers by now – though she still feigned ignorance at times, they generally resulted in a loss of supper and hearing the annoyance in the guards’ voices was therefore rarely worth it. Still, it felt like a rebellion, and one small enough to not result in any physical harm to herself.

There were points where Sabre wondered if Flick and the paladins were right, that Okran was real and that Narko was, too. A lot of the flatskins believed in those gods, though often not to the rabid extent that the paladins did. She knew that Rebirth was getting under her skin, and it was growing more difficult to shake it off as a result.

It was at this point that she realised she needed to leave – and to do it soon before she became yet another timid, self-loathing slave who refused to do anything but work for that second chance.

She spied her opportunity a few nights later, locked in a cage in the same cramped quarters as Flick. The guards fell asleep one by one, and soon Sabre was at work on her shackles. They fell away almost instantly, leaving a lightness Sabre had not felt in a long time, though her neck muscles felt weak from the constant support the collar had provided.

She prodded Flick awake, and it was with a greatly reduced burden that the two stole out of the slave-house and into the darkened pits of Rebirth.

Even if they didn’t manage to pass the gates, they were free for now, and that freedom was like song.


	9. Chapter 9

There were plenty of guards out and about, patrolling the darkness on the lookout for fugitives like them. Sabre and Flick kept to the shadows, making breaks for more cover when they felt they could risk it. Sabre felt giddy, intoxicated. The knowledge of what lay just beyond the gates was enough to make her want to take bigger risks, but Flick grabbed her arm with her bony fingers.

“Be careful. Remember, less Shek.”

Slightly offended, Sabre nonetheless followed Flick’s lead and crept towards the next building. From here on out there was no more cover. They would have to make a break for it, all the way up to the gate.

“Ready?” Flick whispered, her voice shaking.

“Yep.”

They ran. Sabre could feel the muscles in her legs working in ways they hadn’t worked in so long, cramped up by heavy shackles and iron cages. She reached out for Flick’s hand, their fingers interlocking, and they bolted for the exit.

Nobody had seen them yet. The path ahead was empty, and Sabre’s heart sang. But Flick was struggling to keep up, and Sabre could feel the pressure tugging at her hand. “We can do this. Come on.”

“Okran forgive us,” Flick gasped. “Okran forgive us.”

Had Sabre thought she could manage it, she would have picked the girl up then and there and slung her over her shoulder, but at that moment she could no more carry Flick than fly all the way back to Squin. “You can do this. We’re nearly there.”

Flick let out a sob and stumbled blindly forward, her hand still sliding in Sabre’s grasp. Her palm was clammy and it was all Sabre could do to keep her grip. “Almost there. Almost…”

The paladins swarmed out of the watchtower, blocking her view of the path ahead. “Escapees! Heretics!” one of them shouted.

Sabre was too breathless to swear.

“No!” Flick’s voice was barely audible, but Sabre felt the flatskin shove on her back. “Sabre, let go of me and keep running.”

“But…”

“Just go!”

Her instincts kicking into gear, Sabre ran, dodging guards left, right and centre. Behind her, she heard Flick let out a shout that she would never have recognised as a flatskin cry. There was the sound of metal on bone, the shouted warnings from the paladins, and the confusion as guards split off from their group to go after Sabre.

Sabre ran until she could run no longer. Up the path and up the hills she ran, not wanting to think about the scuffle going on down below, just running, running, running for a freedom that seemed tantalisingly close but yet so far away.

After a long time she stopped running, too exhausted to go any further.

She looked behind her, even though she knew Flick had not followed. Shame prickled the stumps of her horns; her friend had bought her time to get away, and had paid the price. Yet Sabre knew that, whatever had happened, she would still be alive. In horrible pain and with a number of paladins watching her every move from now on, but alive.

“I’ll come back for you,” she promised the stars, then began her solo journey on towards freedom.


End file.
